Happy As Kings

Bärli-bär

 

Me schmoozing with happy Zina Bear who sits as close as possible in order to be cuddled.

Sofia 1997 - 2008

Our Foofy died yesterday.  A blood clot lodged in her aorta paralyzing her below the waist.  When it happened, I heard her scream, but didn't even recognize her voice.  One of her nicknames is Chirpy because she usually trilled at us in greeting.  At first I thought the cat scream was some cat outside.  We rushed her to the doctor, but there wasn't anything to be done but to stop her pain and fright.

While we were living in Belgium, Foofy came to us as a starving stray who had just given birth.  She was still bleeding.  We fed her immediately.  This was a Friday.  When we took her to the vet on a Monday she weighed four pounds.

   

Our resident cat Dinah wanted to kill the intruder so we had to keep the dining room doors locked, with a key, to keep Dinah away from the newcomer.  Dinah is good at opening doors.  It took a flight back to the U.S., and being dumped in Grandma's living room for Dinah to get over her fury.  Long flights and strange houses usually work that way with cats.  It's expensive, but effective.

   

Foofy soon settled in and had her own place to eat where the Pat the Bunny couldn't bother her while she ate.

   

Foof was intrigued by Pat the Bunny (d. 1999, god rest her little dictatorial soul), but learned quickly that We Don't Mess With the Bunny.

   

   

   

Foof settled in and quickly became one of the gang.  This photo in the attic room that passed for a 'school room' is the game of "cat show."

   

We moved back to the United States, and Foo (and everyone else) settled in to the new house.  In the winter, she watched out the front room window.

   

   

In the summer, she climbed trees.

   

   

   

Of all our cats, Foofy was the one that anyone could stroke.

   

She even forgave crabby old Dinah.

   

Time went by, and in summers Foofy rolled in the dirt ...

   

   

... and tried catching squirrels.

   

   

   

   

In the winter, she played in the snow.

   

In the spring, she played in the water.

Foofy was our sweetie, and we miss her terribly.

Cat Genie

We might have to consider this.

Cat Genie

The only automatic cat box that flushes away waste and, like a cat, washes itself clean.

Disgustalopes

It rained and the weather was temporarily warmer.  The back yard turned to mud, helped along by what we call the Mississippi River -- the rain runoff through the backyard that drains parallel to our street.

The backyard Mississippi.  It's shallow right now, but it means the ground is well-sogged.  (it's been much bigger than this, so don't think we equate a teeny bit of water with a non-teeny river)

The good dog.

There is no mud on her paws.

   

   

   

Ewwww.  The ground is soggy.

    

Then there are the boys.  They only look like dogs.  They're really piggies.

   

   

Ashes in the water ...

   

   

... which is preferable to Rocco in the mud.

   

   

My, was that boy filthy.

   

   

No, I don't want you coming over the fence.  You stay in your own yard.

   

   

I'm just glad I wasn't the one to bathe them.  Rumor has it that the bathroom looked as if disgustalopes had been charging through it.  We'll be glad when the mud freezes.

Frühstück Freund

Or, in English, Breakfast Buddy.

   

   

In any case, he's always around to keep us company at breakfast.

New grandcat, too

In addition to our new grandson, Emerson, we have a new grandcat, Nelson.  Nelson is a poorly-sighted and deaf Siamese stray who was picked up and brought to the shelter where our older daughter is a doctor.  She fell in love with him, and so he's the latest addition to her menagerie.

Our daughter was afraid Nelson would be overwhelmed by the rest of the family, but so far that hasn't happened.  Even though Nelson is toothless (his teeth were rotten so she removed all but five or so), and him being already declawed, apparently he's got a fierce right jab. Whenever any of his other step-sibs get in his personal bubble, he gives them a whap to the head.  Nelson is not a weenie.

Nelson also doesn't put up with violations of his rights.  Every time he is left alone -- whether for an actual long time, or any time that Nelson deems has been too long -- he yells.  MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!  Local opinion is that if Nelson weren't deaf, he would have such a raucous miaow.  Even for a Siamese, Nelson is loud and raspy. 

To shut off the MAAAAAHing, those who neglected Nelson (and anyone else in the room) must pick him up and cuddle him.

   

One family member who would love to cuddle Nelson is Rocco, 2nd eldest of the brood.  Rocco loves kittehs and hopes someday to have a litter of kittehs of his own.  He has fostered litters, but they always seem to go away.  Rocco wants his own kittehs.

The kittehs aren't so sure about him.

Nelson has since popped Rocco in the head, for which Rocco apologized deeply because he's a good dog.

See?

Rocco's a good boy.

Well, most of the time Rocco's a good boy.  He also knows how to say NO! to the rest of his family, other than Mama, of course.

Ashes is a good boy, too, but here he overstepped the boundaries because he got to wear Mama's hat, and Rocco didn't.

Rocco says Rocco should wear Mama's hat!

Poor Ashes.

Zina Bear, the oldest of the family (other than Mama), says that Zina Bears don't wear hats.  Ever.

Meanwhile, Nelson was keeping an eye on Stormie, the Secret Agent Man who wears a bow tie.  Stormie loves Nelson, but Nelson's still not sure of Stormie's motives.  Is it love, or is it ... something else?

During the hat exchange, Stormie made it to the back room food dish (instead of the kitchen food dish) by stealth and strength of will.  The back room dish has Nelson food in it instead of Stormie and Bernie food.  (Bernie wouldn't hold still for a photo)  Nelson food (indistinguishable from Stormie and Bernie food by humans) is superior.

All in all, it was a full day, but everyone did fine.  Nelson is settling in, and taking control.

The days are getting chilly ...

... and Die Prinzessin likes sleeping on the dryer.

She thought better of it

Wipe your feet!

La Belgienne must have been trying to dig to China.  Look at those feet!

I think Satan needs longjohns

This is something we thought we'd never see.  Die Prinzessin snuggled up to Junk Yard Thug. 

I know what his attraction is, though: BTUs.  He radiates heat like a hot water bottle and our poor Prinzessin is the chilliest little thing.